


Scar Tissue

by Sarah_Ellie



Category: James Bond (Craig movies)
Genre: Complete, Gunshot!Bond, Hurt/Comfort, M/M, Post-Skyfall
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-04-23
Updated: 2013-04-23
Packaged: 2017-12-09 06:38:43
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,954
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/771173
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Sarah_Ellie/pseuds/Sarah_Ellie
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Bond returns from Skyfall with a wounded heart and a ache in his shoulder that he still can't shake</p>
            </blockquote>





	Scar Tissue

**Author's Note:**

  * For [faequeentitania](https://archiveofourown.org/users/faequeentitania/gifts).



> Written for my Beta, Dalekfighter1190- who is wonderful!

The jacket that Bond had been wearing that afternoon was still wet when he arrived at MI6 late in the night. Overzealous paramedics had kept him at Skyfall manor, worried about cuts and bullet grazes and the fact that he had nearly drowned. They were waylaid by the blood that wasn’t his, not realizing that there was only one wound on his body that ached, and it had been acquired four months beforehand. Finally, Bond had convinced them to take him back to London in exchange for sitting in the back of an ambulance with a medical professional for the duration of the trip. 

Many hours later, he strode into the temporary MI6 bunker, not sure what to expect. He thought that maybe there would be some secretaries, or even a handful of agents milling around, grieving the death of M. Instead, he found a mostly-empty building.  
 _How late is it?_ Bond thought to himself, picking his way around desks and waiting areas. The only lights that were on were in the very back of the bunker, shining through the glass doors of Q Branch. 

“007.” Q stood when he saw Bond pass through the doors, startled. His green eyes, magnified by his lenses, were tinged with red. His clothing, admittedly fashionable despite being far outside of Bond’s personal style, was rumpled and identical to what he had been wearing the day that Silva escaped. Stray mugs with strings from teabags lingered over most of the surfaces around the circumference of Q’s desk.

“Christ Q, when’s the last time you slept?” Bond asked, arms folded across his chest. Q stood, and moved around his desk. 

“I slept a few hours ago.” Q said dismissively, immediately patting down Bond’s arms and chest in a perfunctory manor. “Are you hurt?” Bond hissed, reacting to the contact of Q’s press against his right shoulder. 

“That’s what I thought.” Q said, pulling his hands away. “You should go to medical.” 

“Old injury, I’m afraid. Nothing to be done.” Bond said, trying to catch the breath before it left him in jagged gasps. Silva was right; he hadn’t been ready for Skyfall. His shoulder hurt nearly as much as it had when it originally began to heal, before he cut it open to extract the bloody uranium rounds. He had been only part of the agent that he needed to be, and the result..

“Bond, I’m very sorry.” Q said quietly, reading the loss in Bond’s eyes. He tucked his long hands into his pockets. “If Silva hadn’t escaped-”

“Don’t.” Bond raised one hand, and sighed. “She’s dead. I don’t want to talk about it.”

_The bitch is dead._ Q thought, recalling Bond’s reaction to Vesper. 

“Can I at least get you some dry clothes? Or can I give you a lift home?” Q asked uncertainly. He was aware that now, technically, he was the only member of MI6 alive that still technically outranked Bond. There were people higher up on the pay scale, sure, but no one that could effectively give Bond orders and have those order followed. As cold as M had been sometimes, and as tough as she seemed, Q knew that her orphans- the double o’s- had been very much like her children. Not that Q was looking to be the caretaker of someone ten years his senior, but prudence told him that he at least needed to make sure that Bond made it home alive that evening. 

“I don’t have a flat.” Bond said with a bitter laugh. “M sold it months ago. I’ll just stay here. I should debrief with Tanner in the morning anyway.”

“Wait here.” Q said, locking down the Q Branch computers before disappearing into one of the storerooms. They were poorly outfitted, thanks to the explosion that had taken out not only the administration offices but also a great deal of Q Branch, but there were still athletic suits for the R &D department. He grabbed tracksuit bottoms and a t-shirt that looked like they would fit Bond, and returned to the main room of Q Branch. 

“You’re going to come back to my flat.” Q said, trying to edge his voice with enough authority that Bond would be inclined to listen to him. Something had happened, though, in the sparse minutes that he had been gone. Bond was seated at one of the terminals, eyes screwed shut and jaw clenched tight. One hand clutched at his injured shoulder, and he was breathing heavily

“007?” Q rushed to the agent’s side, and wrapped his fingers around his wrists in an attempt to pull Bond’s arms out of the way. 

Instantly, Q found himself on his back, on the ground. His head smacked against the cold tile floor, and he was staring upwards at the achingly bright fluorescent lighting. Bond was on top of him, pinning him down. One arm was tight across his neck, cutting off his ability to breathe. He could hear the man’s ragged breath in his ear, and feel the warmth of it on his neck. 

“Dou-B-Bond.” Q gasped and struggled, attempting in vain to get Bond off of him. “Bond, please-” He turned his head, staring into the bright eyes of the agent. They were hard, guarded, and they stared back in an expression that was terrifyingly devoid of emotion. As the seconds passed, Q felt his lungs burning for air, his sight darkening. It was only when he began to draw light, ragged breaths that Bond seemed to enough into himself to realize where he was again. 

“Q, fuck. I’m sorry.” Bond lifted himself off of the Quartermaster, and reached down uncertainly with his right hand to help Q to his feet. In a strange indication of trust, Q took Bond’s arm and allowed himself to be helped to his feet. Once again, the pressure on Bond’s arm sent a wave of pain through his body, and he grunted despite himself. 

“Right, you’re coming back to my flat.” Q intoned, repeating himself. Bond shot him a dubious look. 

“I just fucking... I nearly killed you, Q.” He said. “And now you want to bloody bring me home?” He was clutching his shoulder, and his body was rigid with pain. “No, I’m sorry. I won’t be responsible for murdering you in your own bloody flat.” _I’ve killed enough department heads for one night_ , Bond thought to himself. 

“I can’t let you stay here and attack an intern.” Q said, stooping low to pick the abandoned athletic wear from the ground. “Besides, my bedroom door locks. Now let’s go, I’m too tired to argue with you anymore.” 

It was a testament to Bond’s exhaustion, his pain, and his legitimate fear of murdering a member of MI6 staff on MI6 property that made him wait by the door for Q to finish locking down Q Division. He followed Q through the dark halls that led to the employee parking lot, and was surprised when Q led him over to a perfectly respectable vehicle, albeit far from luxurious. 

“I thought you took the tube.” Bond said, vaguely recalling Q’s snide remark from the train platform. _Christ, was that only the day before yesterday? _. He shook his head and got into the car once Q had deactivated the locks with his fob.__

__“When I was at university, I did.” Q said, ducking into the driver’s seat. “I had a seminar that let out just before rush hour. It was a bloody nightmare.” He backed out of his spot and navigated through the tunnels and out onto the streets of London, which still held a fair amount of traffic, despite the late hour._ _

__Q’s flat was only a five minute drive when he could freely navigate the streets. He pulled up to the curb and led Bond into a squat building with two flats. He was on the second floor. His flat was small, but mostly uncluttered._ _

__As Bond looked around, he realized that the tidiness was not a natural predilection to being clean, but was instead a trait of disuse. There were no crumbs on the counter or dishes in the sink in the kitchen that he was led through, and the couches in the main room did not look like they had ever been sat on._ _

__“The guest room is down the hallway on the right, and the bathroom is right across the hall. My bedroom is the one straight ahead.” Q said as he pulled open a closet and pulled down a towel. “Here are the clothes from R &D. I’m sure you’d like to shower- you smell like algae.” _ _

__“Thank you.” Bond said, taking the towel and the clothes._ _

__“Have you eaten?”_ _

__“It’s not your job to feed me, Q.” Bond said._ _

__“All the same, I’m going to run to the corner convenience store while you shower, I’ll be back in a tick.”_ _

__And then he left, and Bond was alone to figure out the archaic shower knobs and try and determine which nondescript bottle was supposed to be shampoo._ _

__When Q returned from the store, bags in hand, he could still hear the water running. He checked his watch as he set a few sandwiches in the fridge. It had been twenty-five minutes. He knew for a fact that the old building’s hot water supply disappeared promptly after fifteen. Loudly, Q approached the bathroom door and knocked._ _

__“Bond?” He called, slamming his knuckles repeatedly on the center of the door. There was no answer. At that moment, every possible method of death- both accidental and purposeful- ran through Q’s head. He tried the knob, and was relieved to see that it was unlocked._ _

__The room was filled with steam, but that steam was diminishing closer to the shower. Hesitantly, Q called Bond’s name again. He was greeted with silence, save for the sound of the water. Gingerly, Q stepped forward and pulled the shower curtain slightly aside.  
Bond was standing facing Q, his right shoulder leaning against the shower wall. The stream of water from the showerhead hit him in the center of the chest, and the cold was clearly turning his skin a bright red. The wound on Bond’s shoulder looked worse than Q had imagined- it was re-healing from Bond’s interference, but the skin was irritated-looking and still scabbed over. Considering how long Bond had been wearing the lake-soaked shirt, Q would be shocked if the wound didn’t end of infected, which would be the first step to a long and inevitable disaster. _ _

__“007, are you okay?” Q asked, pushing the curtain aside before taking a step back. He tried, desperately, not to be distracted by Bond’s perfect physique. The scars and bruises were obvious, but did nothing to obscure the toned muscles lingering underneath._ _

__To Q’s complete relief, the agent turned and looked at him with a degree of recognition. Now that Q could see the whole of Bond’s face, he saw that his teeth were chattering from cold._ _

__“Christ Bond.” Q reached forward and turned off the shower, handing a towel to Bond. He took it, and wrapped it around himself before stepping out of the tub, water dripping off of his body in rivulets._ _

__“Sorry, Q.” Bond said, voice tinged with embarrassment. He still seemed a little out of it. “I started thinking, and just lost track of things.”_ _

__“Come on.” Q wrapped one arm behind Bond’s back to usher him forward, but did not let his hand linger. He herded the agent across the hall, where there was a bed already made up. On the way over, Q picked up the bag of groceries that he had dropped on the floor outside of the bathroom._ _

__“What’s in the bag?” Bond asked, pulling the towel from his waist so that he could run it through his hair with one hand- the left. The right arm remained clutched close to his side, carefully remaining unmoving._ _

__Q upturned the bag on the bed and rooted through the emptied contents. He passed each of these to Bond for inspection, and tried to ignore the fact that the agent was still standing there fully naked._ _

__“Natural sleep aid, a toothbrush, deodorant, and this.” The last thing was in a small paper bag, which Q opened. “It’s a very powerful painkiller. It’ll help with your shoulder.”_ _

__“You called medical?” Bond asked, the sting of betrayal rising in his chest._ _

__“Of course not, you didn’t seem to want them to know.” Q replied, crumpling up the bags into one hand._ _

__“Then how-”_ _

__“I’m one of the best hackers in the country. You really think I can’t tap into a Chemist’s computer?” Q smiled. Bond laughed, and picked up the clothes from the bed, pulling them on quickly._ _

__“Thanks, Q.” Bond said with audible relief, popping open the pill bottle and swallowing a capsule dry._ _

__“I’m your Quartermaster, 007. It’s my job to make sure that you’re alright.” Q said before excusing himself from the room._ _

__\---_ _

__Two hours later, Q heard a commotion from the other side of the wall. He had been asleep, but his ability to sleep heavily had been shot to hell ever since he joined MI6. Now, the beep of a text message was enough to rouse him, and any sort of sound from somewhere else in the flat was enough to get him out of bed immediately._ _

__It was easy enough to tell that the sounds were coming from Bond’s room, and for the second time in two hours he found himself opening the door that was keeping Bond contained in one space and Q safe in another. On the bed, Bond was thrashing violently, his injured shoulder slamming into a bedside table and eliciting an animalistic cry of pain that somehow did not wake Bond up, but chilled Q to his core._ _

___the bloody sleep aids_ Q cursed, rushing to Bond’s side. At this point, he didn’t care if Bond’s choked him to death, he just wanted to get the man over to the center of the bed before he did any more damage to himself. _ _

__It took a great effort to roll Bond, who continued to thrash wildly in the throes of whatever nightmare was gripping him, to the center of the bed. To get him to stop moving, Q had to resolve to sit on Bond, feet holding the agents legs pinched closed and knees pinning Bond’s hands to his sides. With his hands, Q pressed Bond’s upper arms close to his chest, trying to keep from doing any more damage._ _

__Perhaps without the sleep aid, Bond’s initial reaction to waking up and finding a scrawny man pinning him down would have meant a painful encounter for Q. As it was, Bond stared around groggily, and only tried to buck Q off of his waist for a few moments before he seemed to realize where he was, and he sagged into stillness._ _

__“m’soryy.” Bond slurred, sinking back into his pillow. “m’sorry Q.”_ _

__“Don’t worry about it.” Q said softly, exhaustion evident in his voice, removing his hands and easing the grip of his feet. He was about to climb off when he noticed a very distinct physical reaction from Bond pressed against his arse. He shifted, intending to move, and was surprised to feel Bond pushing upwards, damn-near grinding his erection against Q._ _

__“Bond-” Q froze, torn between the groggy man beneath him and the stirring of his own cock in his pyjama bottoms._ _

__“Fuck.” Bond groaned, his voice clearer. “Don’t, ignore me- just... you can go.” Embarrassment was easy to hear in Bond’s voice, even through the sleepiness and pain. Carefully, Q extricated himself and settled into a cross-legged position by Bond’s side._ _

__“Do you want me to go?” Q asked, hesitant to leave Bond alone. Clearly, the man was not in a place where he was safe in his own skin._ _

__“Not particularly.” Bond said, his voice regaining the gravel that Q was used to hearing over the coms at MI6. Bond shifted so that his head rested on a set of pillows. “But as the one of the two of us who is practically bloody useless, I’m not so sure that any request that comes out of my mouth warrants consideration.”_ _

__“Bond, don;t-.” Q said, staring at the agent in surprise_ _

__“I can barely shoot, my reflexes are shot, I’m getting people killed.” Bond said, the bitter edge returning to his voice. “In the last three hours alone I’ve given you more reasons to believe in my incompetence than MI6 has ever collected before. I’m done.”_ _

__“You’ll heal, Bond. I’ll design a gun with a lighter recoil, design better armor, I don’t care what I need to do, we’ll get you back to the condition that you need to be.”_ _

__“I’m a bloody old warship.” Bond said. “I’m fucking scraps.”_ _

__“You are not scraps.” Q said. Unconsciously, he rested a hand on Bond’s waist. He didn’t notice until he saw Bond’s eye flicker downwards, eyeing his hand._ _

__“Sorry.” Q said, drawing away. Bond chuckled darkly._ _

__“Well don’t apologize to me. I wouldn’t have minded, clearly.”_ _

__“You should get some sleep.” Q said, intending on getting up from the bed._ _

__“Unlikely, but I’ll do my best.” Bond said, reaching down towards his hips and tugging up the shirt that Q had given him. He discarded it to the side and began to examine the wound on his shoulder fruitlessly, as the room was pitch dark. He flinched and cursed under his breath._ _

__“Let me see.” Q whispered, sitting back down on the mattress. In the dim light, he couldn’t help but stare at the sight of Bond’s body spread out in the moonlight. There was enough light to see where the wound was, to notice that the shoulder was swollen. Q looked closely at the skin, feeling a slight heat radiating where the wound was. When he pressed his cool fingers onto Bond’s bare skin, he was surprised to feel a hand pressed against the small of his back._ _

__“Q-” Bond breathed low, catching Q’s eye._ _

__Suddenly, Q was pressing his lips against Bond. He was shocked at the voracity with which Bond kissed him back; licking over Q’s lips and into his mouth while one hand wandered from the small of Q’s back down to his arse and over his hip, coming to rest on Q’s hardening cock._ _

__“Get on top of me.” Bond breathed. Q obliged, settling himself onto Bond’s lap. Immediately, Bond began to thrust upwards, grinding his cock against Q’s arse. Q responded by pressing downwards and moving himself against the other man._ _

__“Can I fuck you?” Bond asked, his voice low and groaning as Q ground himself harder, doubling his body forward to lick and bite along Bond’s jaw._ _

__“One moment.” Q said, lifting himself off of Bond. There was a huff of displeasure from the agent, but Q disappeared and had returned quickly with a small bottle and a packet of condoms._ _

__“Someone’s ambitious.” Bond said, eyeing the objects in Q’s hands._ _

__“And if I had only brought one, you would have called me a prude or something equally snarky.” Q replied, crawling back on top of Bond to run one hand over the uninjured (relatively) side of Bond’s body. He laughed, and wrapped an arm around Q to bring him close before he shifted his grasp to hook his thumbs under Q’s pyjama bottoms. He removed them with Q’s help, and tossed them into the corner. He let Q remove his own bottoms, and groaned audibly when Q returned to his lap, running his fingers over Bond’s cock with teasing strokes.  
“Please don’t tease me.” Bond said, voice quiet. _ _

__“Of course not.” Q replied gently. “Hand me the lube.”_ _

__To Bond’s surprise, Q slicked his own fingers down and quickly began to work himself open. He began to sit up with the intention of helping- most of his partners preferred his active participation in foreplay- but was waved off by Q._ _

__“Just watch.” Q gasped, moving two fingers inside of his tight arse. Bond watched as the digits disappeared and reappeared again, twisting inside of Q’s body. When a third was added, Bond groaned and bucked upwards, causing Q to land harder onto himself than he expected. The filthy moan that escaped his lips went directly to Bond’s cock._ _

__“Here.” Q felt blindly across the bed until he found the packet of condoms and handed them to Bond, who tore one from the strip and rolled it onto his cock. He slicked himself with the lube and paused to watch Q continue to fuck himself open for a moment, teeth set against his lower lip and long lashes obscuring Q’s closed eyes, before Bond reached to grab Q’s hips and move him forward._ _

__Bond watched as Q raised himself onto his knees and lined Bond up against his arsehole. Bond expected incremental movements until Q was wholly settled, so he tempered the blind desire to thrust until he had Q flush against his thighs. What happened instead, was Q gave Bond a lingering look before he sank down whole, taking the entirety of Bond’s cock with a shout and the slightest squeeze to Bond’s hip from Q’s long fingers._ _

__“Buggering fuck.” Bond groaned as he felt his cock wrap in the tight heat of Q’s arse. He could feel the fluttering muscles, and white sparks lit behind his eyes._ _

__“Bloody move.” Q groaned, his breaths coming out in pants. Immediately, Bond began to thrust, working with Q to establish a rhythm. With his left hand, Bond ground himself against the bed for balance. With his right, he attempted to reach and wrap his fingers around Q’s cock. He was surprised when Q batted his hand away._ _

__“Later.” Q said, moving more rapidly on Bond’s cock._ _

__“I’m not going to-”_ _

__“I don’t care.” Q assured Bond, opening his thighs to take Bond deeper inside of himself. He felt Bond’s cock slam into his prostate, and he let out another cry, which became choked and silent as Bond began to repeat that same motion rapidly, relishing in the clench of Q as the Quartermaster was eeked closer to orgasm._ _

__Q came first, although he tried his level best to keep the mess contained. Bond followed quickly thereafter, stopping with shuddering breaths._ _

__Bond pulled out, Q cleaned them both up with his pyjama bottoms, and curled up next to Bond’s uninjured side. Gently, he trailed patterns over Bond’s skin, careful not to get too close to the scars._ _

__“Thank you.” Bond said after a little while, staring up into the darkness._ _

__“For what?” Q asked, glancing over. He was nearly asleep, his fingers moving out of desire of their own._ _

__“For telling me that I wasn’t scrap. For taking me in for the night. For a bloody good fuck.” Bond murmured, stifling a yawn. “If I had had to stay at MI6 tonight, I don’t know what sort of condition I would be in.”_ _

__“You just need time.” Q said, laying his cheek against Bond’s chest. “The wound will heal, and if there’s anything that I can do to make that easier, I’m here.”_ _

__“I thought your job was to haul me off- replace me with wires and a higher accuracy rating.” Bond joked, kissing Q’s temple._ _

__“Did you ever think that my job wasn’t to haul you off, but to bring you back?” Q asked quietly. “I’m your Quartermaster. I’m here to make sure that you stay, that someone puts you back together.”_ _

__“It’s a big job.” Bond warned, glancing over._ _

__“It’s sure as hell worth it.” Q replied, curling up closer to Bond’s side. “Goodnight, 007.”_ _

__“Q, call me James.”_ _


End file.
